


The Men, The Music, The Murder.

by IchyToaster



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU-Jazz bar, AU-Orchestral, Burning, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, M/M, burned alive, no its not jim or seb, not entirely, other tags will be added with additional chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchyToaster/pseuds/IchyToaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like an itch-- a nerve had been tugged last night by that silent pianist, and like a paper cut. If one dared to irritate it enough, the small cut would turn into  a festering wound. As awful as the thought sounded, there was a match lit in his mind, and he was now in control of putting it out or letting it spread into a wild fire. He chose the latter as he entered the bar again.</p><p> <br/>THIS FIC WAS ABANDONED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sforzando](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127288) by [goingbadly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingbadly/pseuds/goingbadly). 



> I'm also working on a few other things but this has almost all my attention at the moment. Enjoy.

The light of the cigarette illuminated his face in the dark street, standing in the shadow of the lamp. The wind was soft and cold, preying on the back of Sebastian’s bare neck, dreadfully reminding him winter was around the corner. The weather had been gracious this year, and Sebastian refused to hear any complaints, afraid that the words of contempt may just bring hell frozen over. 

 

He stood in the street lamp; the yellow light made a small circle of visibility. The smoke fell from his lips in a sigh of relief, reminding him it was finally Friday night, and he could have a weekend of some peace before Monday kicked him in the ass again. Sebastian looked up, past the light, the stars visible from the gray clouds, and the moon still hid in the thin cloak like a woman in a silk robe. 

 

The only noise besides the wind was the music and laughter from the bar. The door was just ajar open, but the noise was loud and wonderful; the chatter was full and radiant-- it sure was good to be out on Friday. Everything felt just a bit slower than usual, the stride of people as they passed, the wind, even the way words fell from people’s lips; everything slowed and it was all… perfect in a way. 

 

Putting out his cigarette, Sebastian wandered into the music and laughter, absorbing it slowly as he entered. It was like stepping into a different world-- from the slow daze of the night to light and color in such a small place. The Irish Tiger was a little place, but it always felt larger with people and music… so much music. It practically poured from the walls and doors almost every night.

 

Tonight there was a pianist; just a single man. Sebastian watched from the end of the bar, ordering a pint and pulling his jacket off, watching the man on the small wooden stage. He couldn’t have been taller than 1.6 meters,  but as he strode on stage, the piano seemed to shrink in his presence. He didn’t look like much--no one really did-- in a white t-shirt, faded grey jeans and sneakers. His brown hair was a bit mussed, and his lazy attempt to fix it with his fingers running through it didn’t do him much good either. Sebastian watched; the crowd waited. There were never introductions, and like those before him, the pianist didn’t either.

 

He sat down on the bench, cracking his pale knuckles and stretching his long digits. Fingers bent and flexed; wrists turned, and shoulders rolled. Eyes watched with curiosity. Sebastian waited, sipping his beer.

 

The pianist’s fingers hovered over the keys, twitching as if going through songs to play, and by that time, everyone was silent. There was never a jeer for him to hurry, just the quiet of the crowd. 

 

And then they dropped. All at once a chord rang out ripping through the room. The pianist’s shoulders rolled, and his fingers danced with a grace people only saw in concert halls if they were lucky. Another chord hit Sebastian, and the bar cheered. The pianist’s eyes rolled, and his head tipped, pounding at the keys and playing an intricate melody as if he was begging--yearning for a counterpart. 

 

There wasn’t any use clapping to the player’s beat-- it was only him; all him, and Sebastian wanted it. The melody was more intricate than a spider’s web; each note danced from a single player’s touch, bending to his melody to create something larger than himself, and the pianist could feel it. The t-shirt stuck to his back and chest as he played. His spine pushed into a lovely arch as he tipped his head back. Dark hair clung to his scalp, falling over his face as he hunched back over the keys. 

 

Silence.

 

His body stilled, the bar roared as his fingers gracefully walked over the keys to the final chord, fingertips resting on the black and white. His eyes gazed up to look across at Sebastian. His eyes were dark and tempting; a half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth for a second before his hands lifted off the keys, and his back straightened. His eyes left Sebastian’s as he rose, bowing slightly to the crowd as he stepped off stage.

 

“What the hell was that?” Sebastian asked the bartender after ordering a second pint. 

 

The man on the other side shrugged, passing the beer to Sebastian. “Not sure, really. He comes here ‘most everyday. Never says a word.” 

 

Sebastian Moran looked back at the stage, and the silent pianist was already tossing his jacket over his shoulders, gazing at Sebastian with dark teasing eyes and a half smirk as he strode out. 

 

* * *

 

It had dust on it still, covered in a thin film like the wall that separated his life from a previous. It sat, a constant reminder every day when he opened the closet, and every night when he closed it. Fingers ran across the top, picking up the gray plaque that used to divide him from such a secret. One click of both brass latches, and the case opened.

The wood was still shiny and new, kept away from the wear and tear of years in Afghanistan and months of living paycheck to paycheck. Sebastian stalled, as if an invitation was needed. Was he really about to let a silent, psychotic pianist change his mind?

Yes he was.

 

His calloused fingers ran over the wood slowly, tracing over the polished grain as he picked it up. The bow twirled in his fingers aimlessly, rummaging through memories for a song that still laid somewhere under war torn hands. 

 

He remembered. The song beneath his fingers soon put his mind on autopilot as the notes came from a poorly-tuned violin. The bow stretched, as did Sebastian’s mind, struggling but slowly finding the notes from rigorous practice. Moran could recall the second violin answering his call, followed by the rest, falling off the notes like leaves from a tree.

 

Sebastian would still wait--the ensemble’s sound playing in his head as if he was still there; the subdivision still in the back of his mind, counting his rest without conducting. The violin called, to which no answer was given, but he remembered. His muscles still held the melody under his fingers, and the sound rang in his ears as he played. His fingers danced; his body swayed. The music moved him in an old familiar style. The melody was delicate; the bow touched the strings with a gentle grace, something Sebastian himself was never be able to master with strong worn hands. 

 

It changed him, the music; it brought back the gentleman-like grace he was once pressured into having. The mask he wore was put on again, fitting snuggly around him like an old shirt. Sebastian let himself go in the timeless, nameless song. It was slow, and the ballad came and left like a wave, drawing closer and closer without any real contact. He slowed as he neared the end, swaying with the music as he played. He could hear the sound of the bass behind him, the rumble of the timpani, and the flutes carrying on the melody with such precision, such grace that couldn’t be met by any other instrument. Sebastian’s fingers fluttered across the violin, brow furrowing as he concentrated. The melody was passed onto him finally, and he took it as he did every time, leading it up to the end with perfect pitch and key before letting the final chord echo in his mind as he lowered the instrument from his chin.

 

Sebastian stopped. The silence was so unearthly… so surreal. Everything around him slowed. Time felt like an illusion, for he was trapped in his own world, his own space, with the instrument in his hand. He swallowed, putting the old instrument down and letting out a weary sigh. Sebastian knew what this meant. He knew the consequences of picking up such an old secret and putting it out for the world. Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, looking at the digital clock and groaning, not even wanting to think about time. 

 

After putting the violin away and shoving it back into his closet, Sebastian tugged his shirt over his head, pulling back the tousled white sheets and sliding into the less than adequate bed. His eyes closed after he was able to shut the door in his mind to such old memories and troubling thoughts, while the sound of cars outside lulled him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The wind had picked up a bit that afternoon as Sebastian left his flat. He stood on the steps outside, his breath visible as it carried with the wind.  The collar on his jacket was pulled up, just enough to shield his cigarette as he lit it, the only warmth in such a cold place. He watched as the taxi drove off, leaving him outside the Irish Tiger once again, a cigarette in one hand and his violin in the other. Smoke fell from chapped lips rather than words. He stood contemplating his options. As much as he wanted to grab a bite at a restaurant down the street, there was another resting feeling in his abdomen other than hunger. Sebastian hadn’t felt that gut feeling since Afghanistan. It was like an itch-- a nerve had been tugged last night by that silent pianist, and it was like a paper cut. If one dared to irritate it enough, the small cut would turn into  a festering wound. As awful as the thought sounded, there was a match lit in his mind, and he was now in control of putting it out or letting it spread into a wild fire. He chose the latter as he entered the bar again.

 

The noise that had filled the small place with life was quiet now, as it had just opened less than two hours ago. Sebastian took a seat, ordering a sandwich and a pint of beer. There wasn’t any music yet, and the piano sat empty, waiting for it’s next player. It was hard to imagine that less than 24 hours ago the Irish Tiger was packed with people from all walks of life, filling up such a small space with such a large amount of energy and overwhelming sound. Sebastian could remember those eyes-- dark and curious. It was a challenge, the way the pianist grinned as he finished his song. Sebastian was yet to take up his offer--whatever it was. He clearly wanted something. Those eyes… as tantalizing and teasing as they were, Sebastian could only see an empty shell, some kind of reflection staring back at him, like two shimmering pools of black gold.

 

His food was set down on the table along with a tall pint of beer to drink away a symphony of memories. Taking a bite out of his sandwich and looking around himself, Sebastian noticed the trickle of people that moved their way through the small door covered in band advertisements. The talk started to insue; the bits of conversation stirred around him. In such a loud place one could always find some silence. It was like a glass box of sorts. Sebastian was looking, observing, but never engaging with the many that came and left, the ones that would order beer and the ones that would try out those pick up lines that their friends swore worked. Sebastian was a tourist in a strange land. The Irish Tiger had it’s own culture, it’s own world. Everyone that entered was a citizen, a member of the small sturdy country, supplied with the finest beer and music. Their language was different, their speech slow. Sebastian was a mere watcher, an observer. He was an alien in another world. 

 

“Never seen you here before…” An Irish lit chuckled from behind him. 

Sebastian’s eyes left the empty piano under the spotlight and looked to the source of the voice.

_ Two shimmering pools of black gold... _

“Hello…” Sebastian said with a small smile. Fuck, he was even more gorgeous up close. His dark hair was tousled like before, and a small smile tugged at his lips. The pianist’s brown eyes looked over the other man slowly… Sebastian could feel it. The same way enemies used to look over him in interrogations. He felt like he was under a microscope. 

 

A hand extended towards him, long, thin bones covered in a fine layer of pale skin. 

“Jim.”  The pianist said with a smile. 

“Sebastian.” He shook the pianist’s hand… he was all bone: cold and hard; Sebastian swore he would feel more skin on a corpse. 

“Obviously not true.” Moran chuckled after sipping his drink.

“Pardon?”

“You saw me last night. Looked right at me.” Seb chuckled into the glass, setting it down and looking at Jim with challenging blue eyes. 

The pianist laughed softly, looking down at his old scuffed up shoes before his gaze fixed on Sebastian. 

“Right, of course.” Jim smiled stiffly. There was a sort of professionalism that went along with this… ‘Jim’ character, if that was even his real name… Too ordinary.

 

“Not playing tonight, then?” Sebastian asked, the uncomfortable silence was suffocating, but not so much for Jim.

“I am.”

“Then why speak?”

Jim looked at Sebastian, brown eyes searching for some kind of explanation in his face, but only finding the stoich soldier. There wasn’t an answer, only his presence leaving as he got up from his seat, moving to the stage with swaying hips, no bother to look back at Sebastian for a second. The blond looked down at the floor, the violin case next to his feet. Somehow in the time passing he had forgotten it in the drink.

 

The pianist wouldn’t be the only one on stage tonight. 

 

The wood creaked as Jim walked on stage, and the crowd cheered--he must have been popular. Sebastian could pick out the bits and pieces of voices, murmuring about how superb he was, how he came and left like a ghost.  Jim cracked his knuckles as usual as he sat down, ignoring how the crowd came to a hush. Fingers flexed, shoulders rolled. 

 

This wasn’t just routine, Sebastian could see that. It was more than that; it was a ritual.  The first notes were played, and the loud voices came to a hush. The familiar tune washed over Sebastian, and Jim gazed over at the blond for a moment, the same smile pulling at his lips… it was a challenge, asking him if he was going to join. Jim’s eyes closed, fingers dancing on the piano. His back arched, sitting on the edge of the piano bench. His head rolled, tongue licking his chapped lips as his fingers pounded chord after chord with his left hand, his right playing the delicate melody. 

  
  
  


Footsteps were heard on the stage…

The creaking of old wood was under the perfect song…and Sebastian’s fingers moved across the neck of the Stentor, the chords complimenting Jim’s odd melody. The intricate dance that the pianist played was hard to enter into like walking into oncoming traffic.  His notes were long, as if gaging when he would answer to Jim’s ongoing call.

 

He stood next to the piano, watching as Jim rolled with the music, hovering over the large instrument. He was somewhere else, eyelids fluttering, his dark eyes hidden beneath thick lashes. Sebastian tried to feel the music, let it flow through him as natural as blood, but he couldn’t. Blue eyes shut tight and body swaying slowly to the music, Sebastian listened to Jim’s melody.

 

Something was missing.

 

There was some kind of silence amongst the tune, a broken string in the spider web. Jim wanted Sebastian to fix it, and fix it he would.

 

The sound of the violin soon answered Jim’s call, from long tones to fluttering fingers over the strings. Sebastian moved with the music, and soon he started to merge with Jim’s intricate dance. The complexity soon became as simple as a scale, and Sebastian swayed to the music. The chords rang through him, striking his bones like a hammer to steel.

 

The piano started to slow and get quieter; Sebastian played, eyes closed, tremors in his hands. His fingers crawled up the neck of the instrument. He didn’t open his eyes for a second, playing on a whim to his own desire. He could feel Jim’s watchful eyes, the long inhales and exhales audible as the pianist tilted his head back. Long pale fingers crawled on the keys, fast and precise. Jim’s  back arched as he finished, lips parted with a sigh, plucking the notes like petals of a rose before silence. The violin’s quick notes soon turned to long tones, a drone through the crowd. They stayed silent. Sebastian finished with a long slow note, the one he started on, going from beginning to end and back again. 

 

A sigh left his lips, and the two were in silence before a roar came from the spectators. Sebastian grinned a bit, lowering his head and his instrument. He bowed slightly, nodding towards the adoring people before looking behind himself for the silent pianist. 

 

The seat was empty, and Seb looked through the crowd. His large ice blue eyes passed along every face before seeing Jim walking out the door, pulling on his jacket, just like the night before.

 

Moran left the stage in a hurry, picking up his coat and dashing out the door. the moon was high in the pitch sky above. Seb checked his watch. It was well past midnight, and most everyone was either home, or on their way there. The violinist pulled out his lighter and a cigarette, looking around as he pressed the smoke to his lips. 

 

Jim was on the other side of the road, looking at the river’s choppy waves. He turned his head to the side, and Sebastian could get a look at his perfect profile. Those brown eyes didn’t look towards him, but Seb knew it was an invitation to join. 

 

“Evening.” Smoke left Sebastian’s chapped lips with the greeting, and the wind carried it away in a quick motion.

The pianist looked up and down at the taller man, biting the inside of his cheek before looking back at the river. 

“How long have you been playing?” Jim asked in response.

“Since I was a child.” Sebastian said, smoke passing his lips with every word. He could still remember the rigorous rehearsals, even as a boy. Callouses had been on his fingertips since he was ten. He pulled another cigarette from his pocket. 

“Want one?” he asked, and the pianist nodded, taking it from the other’s worn fingers and pressing it to his lips.

 

The world was silent, minus the hush from the river.  The night was longer than most to Sebastian, mostly because he was able to pick up the old instrument with ease. The moon was high, one of the only things lighting the near empty streets. Sebastian looked up, the stars staring back at him, shining through the night.

 

“Damn.”

“Pardon?” Seb’s head turned to Jim, who was searching through his pockets at the moment.

“I don’t seem to have a light…” The musician murmured, the smoke held between his pink, chapped lips. “Do you mind?” He asked, looking at Sebastian.

 

“Not at all.” The other replied, taking his lighter from his jacket pocket and switching it on, the flame trying it’s best to stand against the wind. Jim leaned in, dark, brown eyes glowing in the small flame, pupils blown. It took a few seconds for the cigarette to light. The orange and blue flame brushed passed the cigarette, and smoke started to appear the third time the light came in contact with the coffin nail.

 

Smoke poured from Jim’s lips as they parted in a sigh, and his eyes looked up at Sebastian once the light was gone. 

“Thank you.” He said, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke into the wind, watching it be taken away.

“Headed anywhere in particular?” Sebastian asked, gazing over at Jim, who’s eyes had the river and moon reflected in it. The brunette shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the waves.

 

“You're awful at asking a man to your house, you know,” Jim chuckled, his gaze finally fixing on Sebastian. His dark brown eyes locked with Sebastian's crystal blue ones, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Who said I was?”

“Oh,” Jim rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. “Don’t start.” 

Sebastian laughed softly, shaking his head and looking down for a moment. “So, no?”

After taking another drag, the shorter musician glanced at Moran, a grin tugging at his lips. “Persistent aren’t you?” The Irish lit purred, glancing over Sebastian.

“If I’m persistent, then you’re dodging.” The violinist quipped back, and his grin got wider. Jim’s laugh was breathless, almost as if he was surprised from such a response. 

“Alright, no I’m not.” Jim rolled his eyes, sighing softly. Sebastian grinned more, looking up and down at the pianist. 

“Well, Jim…” He started, eyes meeting the other’s. A knowing grin started to appear on the pianist’s face, eyes glimmering with devious thoughts. “Would you care to keep me company tonight?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, tiger.” Jim murmured softly, walking to the edge of the sidewalk, calling a taxi for the two of them.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

     The flat was about fifteen minuets away with traffic, and the time was spent in silence between Sebastian and Jim. It was almost 2 in the morning, and the only thing that Sebastian craved more than his bed was Jim, who looked around the unfamiliar neighborhood. The yellow glow of the street lamp reflected in his eyes briefly before his gaze snatched Sebastian’s for a second, who went to open the door to his flat. It was a bit small, but nothing Seb complained about. He knew he could have done a hell of alot worse.  
Jim entered after him silently, observant eyes wandering about the flat after Sebastian turned on the light. Jim looked at the taller man, eyes gazing over him slowly. He shed himself of his coat, hanging it on the coat rack and tilting his head to the side like a curious animal, contemplating what to do with it’s prey.  
Sebastian had done the same with his coat after entering, turning to speak to his guest, but instead was met with cold thin chapped lips against his own.

     Elongated fingers tangled in Sebastian’s blond hair, craning his neck to down into a kiss. Jim was ferocious. His movements were more thought out and rough. He was uncoordinated in the best way, his lips begging for Sebastian’s with every pull of his hair and every bite at his lower lip.  
     The sniper was taken back , trying to mimic the other’s harsh movements. It wasn’t just passion, it was an intricate dance of desire, of want and dominance. Jim wanted-- needed, Sebastian’s control. Every push to the couch was a plea, a cry for more, and Sebastian pulled at Jim’s t-shirt, tilting his head to the side and gasping softly as their lips parted momentarily.  
     Sebastian caught Jim’s gaze for a moment. His eyes were dark and lidded, hidden under thick lashes. His wet lips curled into a smirk, and Sebastian chuckled low, catching Jim’s chin and tilting his head up to catch his lips in a slow deep kiss. Now it was his turn.  
    Unlike the pianist, Sebastian was slow and passionate in his movements. While his fingers held Jim’s chin, his other arm wrapped around his frame, and he dug into the fabric of his white t-shirt, still damp with sweat. His movements were slow, pulling away to catch his breath for a moment only to kiss the shorter man again, humming softly against his lips. Sebastian’s hand left Jim’s chin, going to his waist as he guided him onto the couch. The pianist sat down, straddling Sebastian’s left leg. His lips still begged for Sebastian’s as he did so.  
     Jim pulled away for a second, lips only centimeters from the other’s. His breath was heavy and slow, fingers still buried in Sebastian’s hair.  
“Easy tiger…” He purred softly, his voice deeper than the ocean. The words made the other feel like he was being submerged in melted gold, and he shivered. Sebastian grinned against Jim’s lips, one hand trailing up the back of the other’s shirt slowly.  
“Don’t tempt me.”  
     The violinist kissed the man on top of him, moaning softly against Jim’s lips as a knee pressed in between his legs. Jim chuckled softly, catching Sebastian’s lower lip between his teeth for just a moment, canting his hips against Sebastian’s thigh. Calloused hands trailed over Jim’s pale skin, running up his shirt and over his lithe torso. He was all skin and bone under the fabric, and Sebastian’s hands ran over his abdomen and ribs slowly. Jim moaned softly against Sebastian’s lips, letting out a small noise of disappointment as the other’s lips left his own.

    Sebastian’s fingers pressed to Jim’s skin as his lips trailed across his defined jawline and down his neck, moving slowly as he did so. Jim sighed, hips rutting against Sebastian’s leg. His long pale fingers tugged on Sebastian’s hair, relaxing in his touch. A gasp left his parted lips as he rolled his head to the side, exposing his pale neck.

“No marks…” His breathless voice made the command more of a request. Sebastian’s teeth bared on Jim’s neck leaving an obscene mark on his neck.  
   

“Too late, love.” He purred against Jim’s now red skin. The pianist tried to protest, only being met with a bent knee between his legs. Jim moaned, chewing on his lower lip as he ground onto Sebastian.

     The violinist grinned, enjoying the view when he gazed up at the man straddling him. Jim’s back arched slowly, pressing against Sebastian’s hand and melting slowly like candle wax. His body was graceful in Sebastian’s arms, moving like clay with every touch. His hands gripped Moran’s shoulders, running over his shoulder blades; his fingernails dug into the fabric, and Jim’s eyes fixed on Sebastian.

     “Off.”  
The blond’s hands immediately left Jim’s nimble frame, working to pull off his shirt, and he tossed it to the side afterwards.

     Jim’s eyes were the first thing that were on Sebastian, not his hands. He gazed over Moran like a work of art. He was breathtaking if anything. Battle scars lined his chest; deep cuts across his pectorals and abdomen. The pianist’s long fingers traced over Sebastian’s scars slowly, eyes wide in complete awe of such beauty, something Sebastian silently despised. Not a word was spoken. Jim’s lips caught Sebastian’s again eagerly, rolling his hips slowly and letting his back arch into the other man’s touch like clay. As Jim moved closer to Sebastian, his knee pressed against the other man, and Sebastian moaned against Jim’s lips, fingers curling against Jim’s pale skin.  
Sebastian’s calloused fingers ran across Jim’s waist, pulling him closer and closer and--  
   “Fuck, tiger…”  
     The blond’s lips were inches from Jim’s eyes gazing at the other’s. Their breath was exchanged through heavy pants. Sebastian’s hands pulled the other man into his lap and Jim straddled him, one leg on either side. Piano fingers were splayed out onto Sebastian’s scars in a display, and Jim’s eyes fixed on the beautiful ruin of skin.  
Sebastian’s hips rolled against Jim’s eagerly, and the other’s fingers tugged at Sebastian’s hair, catching him in another rough kiss. The violinist moaned, fingers pressing into Jim’s slender hipbones, who in turn ground against him slowly, moving back and forth. The arch of Jim’s back was gorgeous, his movements so fluid like water as he moved back and forth against the other man.  
Fingers gripped Jim’s languid hips, squeezing Jim as he pulled on the fabric of the jeans. Moran grinned as he pulled away, lips brushing against Jim’s as he spoke.  
   “Off.”  
The pianist chuckled in response, a grin pulling on his lips.  
“Don’t get your hopes up, tiger…” He purred, kissing the sniper slowly before pulling away completely, hopping off of Sebastian’s lap in a few graceful motions.

     Sebastian had to catch himself for a moment, staring at Jim in confusion as he put his t-shirt back on. He stayed silent, knowing any remark at that moment would come out stupid, no matter what it was. Instead, Jim filled the silence.  
“I told you, didn’t I?” He asked, a hand running through his hair as he gazed at the stunned blond still on the couch. “I said I’d come over; I never said I would sleep with you.” Jim murmured softly, looking the man up and down with a cold glance.  
“Goodnight, Sebastian…” Jim murmured, grabbing his coat from the door and leaving without another word.

     Sebastian had to collect himself after that. He felt vulnerable in the empty flat, like the world was watching with closed eyes. He stepped into the bathroom, checking for any marks that may have needed some tending to, but found none. His eyes gazed at his reflection briefly, looking over every deep set scar, and memories flickered like an old film as he traced each dent with his fingers. There was something about the way Jim had done it… The way his eyes undressed him and touched his body… it was such a sickening feeling. Jim’s dark eyes tracing over every scar, tapping into memories with every touch. It broke Sebastian slowly, like he was a machine with so many intricate parts, one that no man could fix… until Jim was able to take him apart inch by inch. Sebastian could feel his mask start to crumble under Jim’s ice and bone fingers.

     Blue eyes met the mirror, and a sigh left Sebastian’s lips. He rolled his shoulders, yawning softly as he moved into the kitchen, deciding to drink away the rest of the night and keep his company in another coffin nail.

* * *

 

     Everything hurt… it was like being it with a steel pipe. Shoulders rolled; spines arched; arms stretched. The sun was peeking from the building on the skyline, blinding him briefly before he finally stirred. His ash tray was by his feet, his neck and head ached from sleeping on the sill again. On the floor was a bottle of whiskey and a glass, one was half empty, the other was completely wasted. Blue eyes squinted in the natural light, blinking slowly to get a sense of time and reality, though those two things could never actually be real. Sebastian made an effort to make them the most real things at the moment. He couldn’t recall what time he had fallen asleep, but the only thing he cared about was that he was able to put his cigarette out before doing so. If there was one thing Sebastian was, it was careful. As much as people could argue from his appearance and the scars begging to differ on his behalf, Sebastian Moran was always careful, always attentive to detail.

     He rubbed his eyes, stretching slowly before finally getting out of his uncomfortable sleeping position. Multiple joints cracked into their normal position, and Sebastian stretched out his body once more before striding into the kitchen. His mind started to account for last night, picking apart the detail of his midnight extravaganza. Sebastian made himself a cup of coffee, trying to plan out his day mentally, but only being overwhelmed with Jim. His breath, his lips, his gaze… all of it roamed through Sebastian’s mind. A sigh left his lips as he cataloged all that he planned for Sunday, which to say the least was nothing. His hand ran through his growing strawberry blond beard, and a sigh left his lips, trying to rid himself of Jim.

     Through the scent of cigarettes and the obvious taste of slightly better than average liquor, Sebastian could still taste Jim in the back of his throat, like the feeling of an oncoming cold. But instead of a throaty scratch it was something of fresh spearmint and gunpowder. Seb knew that scent better than any. It ran through his veins and swam in his saliva. Even after so long, and after every dreadful scar was gouged into his god-like figure, Sebastian missed it. Somewhere deep in his bones Sebastian missed the comforting feeling of a gun his hand, the feeling of a trigger being pulled. Jim helped him remember it. Through every desperate tug of his hair and every monstrous kiss, Sebastian could feel his war torn body crave the bloodshed and ever chaotic life of a soldier.

Sebastian knew that he had to go back. He didn’t feel like he had a choice. If Sebastian was a lit match, then Jim was gasoline. There was something that begged for Sebastian to go back to that small bar across from the river. Sebastian could feel it pulling him closer to the music, the madness… to Jim.

Calloused fingers carded slowly through his hair. Sebastian finished his black coffee, praying Jim would be there.

* * *

 

     He was out late, at least for a Sunday night. The weather made the place a lot more crowded. People ran away from the storm outside, finding shelter in the small place filled with so many voices. Sebastian was sitting at the bar again, fingers tapping away at a beat of a silent song in his head., much like the one Jim played. The brunette was nowhere in sight, and as much as Sebastian asked around, no one had seen the silent pianist. Seb hadn’t bothered to bring his violin, only coming for a pint or two and some food… but mostly Jim. After the previous night, or rather, the early morning, Sebastian had to pull himself away from every prying thought of Jim. He was almost like a bad habit, Jim; Sebastian wanted to get rid of him but everytime he tried, something always pulled him back, something better than before, and like every bad habit, he always craved more. Jim would leave, and Sebastian would feel that emptiness start to form in the pit of his stomach once again. That burning desire for destruction never really left.

“I thought I would find you here.”  
_God fucking damnit._  
Sebastian downed the last of his drink, swallowing and turning to the voice behind him to find--  
  
The man didn’t even look like himself.  
     Dark doe eyes looked into Sebastian with a calculating look, one of decisive intel that could break the military man down in a few mere seconds. He had a clean shave, taking years off his age in a peculiar way. His usually mused dark hair was clean and pushed back in one neat movement, showing off his perfect symmetrical face. The white t-shirt and jeans were replaced by a stunning suit, a royal blue that made Jim’s white skin even paler than Sebastian would have ever pictured. His left hand rested in his suit pocket, and his right held a long black umbrella. His dark gaze looked through Sebastian like a ghost: distant and quite frankly, uncaring. The artist had melted away, and all that remained of Jim, something still a dreadful mystery to Sebastian, was a clever, classy man.  
     A small smile tugged on Jim’s perfect thin lips as he watched Sebastian try to form a greeting, and thankfully saved him the time.  
“Hello, tiger.” His voice was low, a breathless laugh accompanying the playfully articulated words.  
     Sebastian licked his lips, looking down at the floor before back at Jim, always feeling that steel gaze on him. He looked Jim up and down once again, still not meeting those wide doe eyes for a few more seconds before speaking.  
“I’m guessing you’re not here to play then, are you?” He asked, still unsure of how to process Jim’s suddenly overwhelming presence.  
“Observant,” Jim teased, shifting on his feet slowly as he looked around the bar, gaze moving slowly from person to person before fixing on Sebastian’s crystal like eyes. “I wanted to talk to you.”  
     The blond raised himself up from his place leaning over the bar, looking at Jim and arching his brow. “About..?” Was all he could manage, the words that left Jim’s lips making him a bit uneasy. Just the sheer way the pianist’s deep irish purr made Sebastian’s bones go stiff gave the blond a suspicious feeling.  
     Jim didn’t answer, only turning to check his phone briefly. Sebastian was an afterthought in Jim’s intricate life, something he preferred not to be at the moment.  
“Jim.” Sebastian called, voice flat with a tinge of annoyance. The other man looked up from the blue light of his phone, blinking as if coming back to reality.  
“Oh yes,” He said, going back to the screen and getting his umbrella. He motioned for Seb to follow, not another word. The pianist started to treat Sebastian like he wasn’t all that necessary compared to other things, but still enough that he was granted Jim’s attention.

     Moran pulled his coat over his shoulders, the long black cloak enough to shield him from the blistering winds. His collar pulled up to cover his face as he followed Jim through the crowd and out of the bar. The shorter man had already opened up his umbrella, stepping into the sleek Maserati outside. Jim looked at Sebastian, one glance up and down at him. Not a drop of water had gotten onto his perfect blue suit. Jim was already on his phone, and Sebastian strode into the car, the rain beating on his coat and unprotected face.  
The pianist made no move to greet Sebastian again, only snapping his fingers once the door to the vehicle was closed. The driver heard the signal and sped off, without any question as to where.  
“What did you want to talk about?” He asked again, watching as a small knowing smile pulled at the corner of Jim’s mouth.  
“Patience.” The pianist purred softly, eyes still glued to his phone.  
Moran rolled his eyes, gazing out the window at the bleak picture. People ran through the streets, sheltering themselves as best they could from the awful winds, but to no avail. The storm urged people to find the nearest shelter, cowering at each strike of lightening and each clap of ungodly thunder. As lightning danced across the sky for mere seconds, the sight of the familiar city started to disappear. Sebastian didn’t bother to ask where they were going, only knowing that they were going to… ‘chat’.

     The driveway up to Jim’s house was enormous, almost too extravagant. Every inch screamed ‘disposable income’. The automatic black iron gates opened as the car approached, turning through the lit driveway to the large double doors of the mansion. Sebastian caught his breath, eyes going over every detail. Light poured through the large glass doors like the gates to heaven. Everything was lavish; no detail was saved. The white infrastructure was illuminated by the bright lights, making it one of the only things visible in such a darkened night.

     Jim’s door was opened by the driver, opening up the umbrella and letting the pianist step out silently in a few graceful motions. Sebastian watched as Jim’s brown eyes were still glued to the phone as the rage of the storm whirled around him. Hesitantly, Sebastian opened the door to the Maserati, watching as Jim climbed the white marble steps to the lit entrance, looking up from his phone for once and gazing at Sebastian.

     His voice could barely be heard above the wind and thunder of the sky, but Sebastian could make out the holler of “What the hell are you doing?” He got out immediately, his black coat whipping behind him in the traitorous wind. The door was opened for Jim, who entered first, followed by Sebastian. The silent driver left the two after, closing the large metal door as he left.  
Silence.

     Nothing could get past the white walls of Jim’s castle. The house was decorated with paintings and artwork of all different mediums. Some were recognizable, others were not. Jim walked through the hall, his wing tipped shoes clicking on the marble floor. His head turned to one side, not looking at Sebastian but glancing in his direction before he kept walking without another word.

     Moran followed, about five paces behind. His eyes tried to take in all he saw from the high ceilings and endless walls of glass to the large paintings on against the white walls. The large hall ended with four ways to go. To the right, and to the left, as well as the same directions up the large seemingly never ending staircase. The dramatic flair was a nice touch, especially with the large chandelier hanging from the detailed ceiling. Sebastian didn’t ask once about any of the conversation pieces Jim had, only following silently.

     The pianist walked up the stairs to the right, the walls open with large windows closed to the storm outside. Everything was silent, even Sebastian’s footsteps. It was only when passing the large windows that he could hear the faint cry of the wind. Jim was at the top of the step, waiting for Sebastian at the open double doors that led into another corridor. From Sebastian’s view, he could see the walls change from a stunning white to a deep crimson red, the large halls lit by the glowing light.

He followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly please leave comments and kudos so I don't leave this gem behind. Your words make all the difference. See any typos or have any suggestions? Say something for the love of god.
> 
> More to come ❤


	3. Chapter 3

The library was lined with bookcases; mountains and mountains of novels to fill the man’s time. In the center of the room on an oriental rug was an cherrywood table, Jim sitting to the left with his eyes gazing at the large fireplace. The room was warm, quite the contrast to the storm outside. From the large window at the far left of the room, Sebastian could see the ongoing battle in the heavens, like a war was waging amongst gods.  The fire reflected in Jim’s eyes, making his glassy gaze lit with a terrifying blaze. It was one of the only things that kept the large empty room from being silent, minus the grandfather clock, slowly ticking and keeping time with it’s many quiet turning cogs. 

Sebastian looked at his host, who picked up one of the two tea cups neatly placed on the round table that separated them. The blond had not a word on his lips to start a conversation whatsoever. He didn’t even know the man’s last name, let alone sure of his first. As he picked up the second teacup, the aroma of black tea filled his senses, and Sebastian tried to put himself at ease in the scent. 

The sound of the teacup saucer was all that was audible before Jim spoke.

“You want to know why you’re here, don’t you?”

As Jim set his drink down, his eyes gazed over at the soldier, face dull with his blank expression. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”  Sebastian challenged, eyes gazing at the dancing fire as he spoke, not looking back at the man to his left until after he finished speaking. His blue eyes gleamed with defiance, knowing that even though Jim could dangle all his power in front of Moran, it wouldn’t falter his rebellious attitude.

Jim only laughed, rolling his eyes and tilting his head in a mechanical like way, his smile lazily pulling on his mouth.

“Well you haven’t questioned anything since arriving, so your curiosity is different.” Jim murmured, picking up the tea cup again and muttering the next sentence into the ceramic. “Usually soldiers go by their orders without question.”

Sebastian’s heart dropped to his stomach at that. His blood ran cold, and he swore his heart stopped. Brows knitted  in confusion, and blue eyes widened in slight horror.

“What did you just say?”

“Dishonorably discharged, yes, Colonel Moran?” Jim asked, looking back at Sebastian, tea still in hand. His words slipped in like a casual conversation, much to Sebastian’s annoyance.

“How…” His mind had flat lined; words collided in his mind, his lips, vocal chords and tongue unable to form a coherent sentence. “how do you know that?” He finally asked, swallowing nervously. 

Jim sighed as if the question was an idiotic thing to ask. His doe eyes rolled as he spoke.

“Does it really matter Sebastian? Figure it out; it can’t be that hard.” 

Moran stayed silent, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his seat. His blue eyes gazed into the dancing fire, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip slowly. As much as he wanted to overthink every word that left Jim’s soft lips with an Irish purr, Sebastian knew he had to focus. He was never the trusting type. Ever. He wasn’t just one to pick up and leave with any stranger no matter by judgement at first glance, but with Jim, Sebastian felt like a moth to a flame like he  _ needed  _ to follow the Irishman. 

 

“Why is it important?” He finally asked, trying to sound sure of himself  but falling short in his own words. Every sentence, every question, no matter how articulate and intelligent, made Sebastian feel a bit… stupid. There was something about being in Jim’s presence that made him feel so small, though through every other encounter Sebastian always felt like the superior in the room, no matter the person. The feeling that rested with him now was unsettling. 

Jim’s dark eyes gleamed in the fire as Sebastian observed him, feeling his gaze over him in an instant. He didn’t answer, as usual. Jim’s motions spoke for themselves. Brown eyes gazed at the blond for a moment before looking back at the fire.

 

“You ignorant man…” There was a soft chuckle that accompanied the Irish purr, and a devilish smile curled on the corner of Jim’s mouth. “You thought you could run forever, didn’t you?” 

 

Sebastian was silent as fear roared inside him like the flames in the fireplace. Everything was suddenly too close, to compact, with little room to breathe. Sebastian felt trapped in the empty silence, in the begging question, the one that always dared to be answered, but not a single word would suffice for such a story, not then, not ever. Sebastian knew that much. 

The blond’s jaw shifted with a tinge of anger. Knowing that he had no upperhand in the situation made him nervous, it made him… scared. For the first time in what felt like eons, Sebastian felt the earthquake like feeling of fear start to boil in the bottom of his stomach. Somehow he knew this would happen; somewhere in the back of his mind after all those years of pretending that it couldn’t, and wouldn’t never exist… but it did. The name never said; the one always on the edge of a dying breath, the one that ran the world with a snap of the finger.

 

“Moriarty…” The word was like a plague on Sebastian’s lips, as it was whispered in a shallow breath like his chest was tight between two walls. Moran sighed, gazing at the brunette, who chuckled softly. 

 

“It’s lovely to finally meet, Moran.”

* * *

 

Moriarty’s driver had dropped Sebastian off without his company, driving away half an hour before the clock struck into a new day. Sebastian stripped himself of his jacket as soon as he entered his house, stretching out and letting out a sigh of some sort of relief. He walked into the kitchen, pulling out a glass and a well deserved drink. After drinking tea to fill up such an empty conversation Sebastian needed something strong enough to wash away the memory as easy as a shower.  After downing the glass, he toyed with the empty cup on the counter for a moment in quiet thought before, heading to his bathroom, stripping to shower.

His mind was still filled with the words of Jim… Jim Moriarty. Sebastian knew the name as well as he knew his own. Everyone who claimed to be a Moran knew the name, no matter how young or unaffiliated. Sebastian thought it was a myth, just something that his father told him over in over, scaring him into obedience. 

_ ‘thought you could run forever, didn’t you?’ _

Sebastian heard those words over and over in his mind, burning into his mind like the hot water did to his skin. His body was red with heat and his head lowered in the water, feeling the need to scrub every memory of Jim off like a disease. He hated it. He wanted rid of it as quick as possible. As beautiful as the presence of such a man was, Sebastian wanted Jim, not Moriarty. There was a difference; Sebastian knew that. 

Between the pianist and the criminal there was a distinct shift in personality, in the atmosphere, and even as unnerved as it made Sebastian, he just wanted more. He became more and more curious with every word that left Jim’s lips with a beautiful Irish lilt and he  _ hated _ it. It disgusted him how such pure passion could be for the devil. 

Sebastian reached for his towel, cleaning up in lazy tired motions as sleep started to pull on his muscles. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, running a hand through his damp hair and getting a good look at himself in the mirror. His jaw shifted at his own reflection. He could see the scars; each indent was like a sentence in his life, all together pulling his story in cuts and bruises. Sebastian left the bathroom, the cold air hitting his bare chest as he left the bathroom. He stretched, checking the time and pretending that he didn’t see the digital clock switching to an hour into Monday morning. He poured himself a second drink, downing it in hopes of finally swallowing the last of Jim Moriarty’s memory, but failing. 

Sebastian leaned over the counter, head lowered in thought, trying to still wrap his head around ‘Moriarty’, the man, the name, the empire. He stood in the silence, only hearing the now quiet patter of rain on the rooftop now. Fingers drummed on the table as he tried to make some sense of it all, tried to find fact in the fiction of his affection. 

 

A knock.

At first Sebastian thought it was the sound of his knuckles, but as the noise repeated off-beat with the drumming of his fingers, Moran went numb. His mind raced with ideas of how it could be-- and  _ why. _ It was nearly two in the morning, and Sebastian wanted more than solitude. The knocking sounded again. 

_ One two three _

Each in a perfect rhythm, in perfect style, like the bass drum in a Sousa march.  Sebastian’s stomach dropped, eyes looking at the empty glass in front of him with a gaze filled with fear. 

_ It couldn’t have been. _

_ One… two… three _

Blue eyes closed, and a shaky breath left Sebastian’s chapped lips. He rose, stretching out slowly and trying to delay the presence of the dreaded guest. Moran knew who it was, and as much as he tried to tell himself that they would never return, that any of them would  _ ever _ return, he knew better. Sebastian walked up to the door, the knocking still in perfect time, the door illuminated in a surreal way, making Sebastian’s insides knot in fear. 

_ One two-- _

The door opened. Sebastian looked at his uninvited guest.

_ The melody without an answer…  _

* * *

_ “Again.” _

Cold, shaking fingers ran across the wood, cuticles picked away from the nervous tension that rested under the bone. Bare feet, blue and numb stood on the concrete floor. 

He couldn’t remember how long, how many times, he had heard that word, how long he had been standing, how long it had been since he picked up his bow with a weary feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Fingertips pressed to each string, trying to paint the intricate and delicate melody with unprofessional, ill prepared hands. Sebastian tried to carry the weight of such a melody, feeling like carrying the weight of a bolder would be easier.

_ “Again Sebastian.”  _

He could hear the aggravation, the tone of the voice and the way the Oxford’s heels clipped in the air, the noise circling him slowly like a hawk. The boy’s calloused fingers plucked strings in a delicate motion, careful not to be ‘too abrasive’ or ‘too quiet’. There was a standard that went along with the name Moran; everyone knew that. The name was like the word of God, and with every whisper it would freeze blood and stop time. Sebastian started again, bow stretching over the neck of his violin in inexperienced motions, the elementary boy still feeling the weight of the violin on his shoulder.

_ “Sebastian.” _

The footsteps stopped, as did Sebastian’s music. He swallowed, wide blue eyes gazing up at the late Moran. He was only greeted with a cold stare of contempt and disappointment. Eyes shut tight as he braced himself, a shuttering breath leaving his nose, trying to be as silent as possible, but still failing as his terrified exhale was as audible as his father’s footsteps. 

 

From the moment Sebastian’s eyes closed to when his head was twisted to the right and a stinging pain was left on his cheek as always a blur. He couldn’t remember how long, how many times, how long it had been since he picked up that bow. 

 

Wide blue eyes gazed up at his father, jaw failing to hide the quiver of his lower lip and eyelids failing to hide the glaze over them like glass. 

_ “Again.” _

...………... 

 

The young boy was dismissed, hands numb and feet blue  as he walked through his house with a tired stroll. His father followed, straight as a needle and gaze forward-- always forward; that was of course, the way of a Moran.

Sebastian watched as his father passed him without a second glance or even a murmur, his cold presence a bone chilling feeling to the child. Things had always been that way. It was of course, the way of a Moran. Marcas Moran’s cold gaze went to his son for a moment, and Sebastian could feel himself shrink in the pure blizzard of his vision, goosebumps started to tickle his arms and neck. He met his father’s gaze for a second before quickly looking away, swallowing nervously as Marcas retired to his office before dinner.

“Seba!”

His head turned to the sound of his name, watching as his younger brother rushed up to him in clumsy motions. Sebastian, now ten years old, had gotten used to having a reflection with him his entire life. Sevrin was just like Sebastian in every physical way possible, from the curious blue eyes to his knocking knees. Though physically the two were carbon copies, Sevrin was the clumsier, messier younger brother. His hands would grip the bow of a violin like he would grip a pencil, which to say was less than desired, especially by the pair’s father. Sevrin always followed Sebastian with his wide feet in big shoes, enormous for his small frame, while Sebastian had grown faster than his brother. 

Sevrin’s large bare feet were heard on the wooden floor as he dashed over to his brother, whose fingers were slowly starting to find feeling again. The boy had always been worrisome during Sebastian’s rigorous rehearsals, as he had his own, but never together. Sevrin’s long calloused fingers reached out, tugging on his older brother’s blue shirt with excitement. 

“Rin?” He asked, brow quirked in confusion at Sevrin’s tight grip. The younger one released his brother after getting his attention, eyes wide when looking at his reflection. “What is it?” He asked, brow furrowing. 

Sevrin’s lips curled into a mischievous grin, giggling at his brother’s confusion. 

“Mama’s cooking, come on!” He practically squealed, and Sebastian grinned, following his younger brother through the enormous halls to the kitchen. 

There was always a storm in the kitchen when their mother would cook. All scents would escape the doors with every entrance and exit. Whether it was baking or cooking, the Moran boys would dash through the kitchen with wooden spoons and pots atop their heads in a game of war when Adeline Moran would walk through, humming softly as she slaved, meal after meal. 

That night, as Sevrin pushed open the wooden door the enormous kitchen, the smell of turkey and vegetables entered Sebastian’s scenes, his mouth watering with delight. The evening was like any other, the two boys running through, swinging their weapons of choice wildly and howling with war like cries. Here, they could play in the presence of their ever kind and loving mother. Her voice was always calm, and if her husband were to enter she would always persuade him to leave the twins to themselves in a soft pleading tone; she was the guardian angel to their father’s wrath of hell. Adeline walked past her sons, always warning them of the danger in a calm tone while she moved from the granite counter tops to the stove and back again. 

 

Sebastian dashed around the side of the granite counter closest to the oven and stove, knowing Sevrin was on the other side from the mischievous disembodied giggle. The boy’s bare feet padded on the cool Italian tile, one hand holding the small iron pot over his head as his old protection against his enemy. Behind him, his mother strolled through with a large iron skillet,  making sure not to disturb her son’s ongoing battle.

“Careful, Seb.” She warned, walking behind her son.

The young soldier tiptoed along the floor, careful for his sound to be above that of the boiling water and sizzling vegetables. 

Another giggle was heard from the other side of the counter, and Sebastian’s blue eyed gaze peered to the left side of the island, looking past the bar stools for his twin. He heard no patter of feet or rattle of a ladle dragging on the floor. Sebastian stood watch, unaware of his brother slowly creeping towards him from behind. He could hear the soft laughter of his mother, who stood carried the skillet of hot oil from the counter to the stove.

“And Sevrin Moran strikes again!” The young boy cried from behind, wooden spoon knocking onto Sebastian’s ‘helmet’ with a rattling clang. The eldest hollered, one hand clutching the large pot that obscured his view and chased after Sevrin, the wooden ladle swinging out blindly in a declaration of war.

“Sebastian-!”

He wished he listened.

He wished that all those lectures would have gotten through to him.

Every time, every single time it played over in his mind… Sebastian’s stubborn, clumsy, careless, selfish, obscene, childish savagery was his downfall.

Every time she tripped,  the iron skillet slipping from her fingers. It was always in slow motion, like he was watching a movie. Her bright green eyes had a look of terror, as if she was watching the film of her life in the few moments she had left on earth. Every time her feet flew from under her, and Sebastian’s body moved just as quick, the iron skillet landing on Adeline’s left foot. Hot oil splashed from the pot, burning his right hand and long finger tips. Every time she would lose her footing, her toes being broken beyond repair under the weight of hot metal and meat. He never thought it would sound like that. Every time her mouth was open in a silent scream, green eyes were open in horror, in fear. Her long blond curls flew from the frame of her face in a whirlwind before her face hit the stove.

_ Crack _

Every single time, the same stomach curdling sound played in his ears, just as real as it happened. Sebastian listened with terror in his eyes as his mother’s blood curdling scream ripped through the kitchen, echoing off of every wall and into his ear drums. Sebastian froze, as if glued to the ground in fear. Her blonde curls lit up like a match once it touched the open flames, tangling in a wretched mess. Sebastian watched as his mother struggled, desperately trying to pull her blonde locks from the metal that kept her head buried in the gas flames. Blood dripped onto the black stove, her skin being burned beyond recognition of the beautiful doll-like featured woman she was. Adeline’s thin frame went limp, and her unconscious body collapsed onto the floor; his mind went numb, and he just watched. The smell of mouth watering food was soon replaced with the smell of cooking, rotting flesh and the stench of blood. Sebastian could only smell and taste the metallic liquid like he had drank it. 

Silence consumed the room like fog. Her body slumped forward, leaning against the running oven on her knees. Sebastian looked at his mother, her head slowly burning to a crisp. Her green eyes were still open, blood pouring from the sickening wounds on her young beautiful face. Her porcelain skin was soon charred, her cheekbones exposed to the flames as her skin and flesh fell off her perfectly constructed high cheekbones

As her eyes burned from her sockets, Sebastian could see her gaze into the hellish fire: fearful. 

Fearful of what was to come after.

There was no guardian angel.

There was no calm voice to put out the fire of Marcas Moran.

 

Sebastian fell to his knees, swallowing, his voice, his being, caught in his throat in one ugly, choked sob. 

Sevrin screamed.

He screamed so loud it rang through Sebastian’s ear drums, who turned to his brother, face red with fear and anger. Sevrin stared at his mother, chest heaving, eyes staying on her.

“Mama!” He cried, running towards the stove and turning the flame off with shaking, long fingers. Sevrin struggled to get his mother, and Sebastian tried to form the word ‘stop’, but all meaning, all being had left him.

Sebastian couldn’t move towards him; he couldn’t look back at his mother’s body. He couldn’t bare to keep his eyes shut, only seeing the crimson horror that was his own fault. 

“Sebastian.” 

Sevrin stopped immediately though it was not his name who was called. The eldest boy got to his feet, dropping the spoon onto the floor and going to the sound of his father.

Marcas Moran stood over his son, blue eyes staring at him with horror and anger, but his voice was as calm as ever. All that was heard in the kitchen was the tapping of Oxford's on tile.

“What have you done?”

Sebastian tried to find the words, he tried his best to answer, but his lower lip quivered, and his abdomen was choked in horror. What had  _ he _ done?

Tears rolled down Sebastian’s cheeks, and he heard his father scoff somewhere above him, making him feel smaller than he already was.

“Papa I--”  
“Don’t you dare, Sebastian.” 

The young boy hung his head, eyes shut tight as he whimpered softly. He could still see his mother in his memory, that look of utter fear in her eyes.  _ What have you done? _

He could still hear Sevrin sniffling behind him, cowering by the corner of the counter on his knees. Sebastian was his savior now, his guardian angel.

“What happened?” The question felt worse than acid on bare skin, and Sebastian swallowed a pitiful sob as he answered in a shaky voice.

“Mama she- she tripped.”

“Now Sebastian,” 

Blue eyes gazed up at blue eyes, and it was like looking into a reflection.

“what did she trip from?” The words were laced with a sickening sweetness to them, like sour candy at a funeral. 

Sebastian stopped, the question making him search through his memory which left like eons ago but was in actuality just minutes. He swallowed hard as he got the answer, knowing the truth was painful enough to stomach.  

“M-me… I pushed her.”

“That’s right.  _ You. _ ” The eldest Moran sneered, looking down at his son with contempt. “Because of your stupidity, your  _ lunacy _ Sebastian, your mother is dead.” Marcas barked down at the shame ridden child before recluding back like a snake after eating it’s prey. 

Sebastian hung his head, trying not to sob completely in front of his father. 

“Sevrin, upstairs.” Marcas snapped, and the youngest of the twins scrambled to his feet, dashing out of the kitchen, fearful of what was to come for his eldest brother. 

Sebastian listened as his brother’s large feet and long lanky legs carried him out the doors as fast as humanly possible, keeping his head bowed in shame. 

“Follow.”

Sebastian did, two paces behind his father, eyes always to the floor.

Marcas walked past his son in long casual languid movements to Adeline’s body. He pulled his wife’s cooked head from the stove, hand covered in blood as he did so. A grimace crossed his lips momentarily before he pushed the body onto the tile, her head hitting the floor with a sickening wet crack of broken bone and blood. Sebastian cringed at the sight, gazing momentarily at the corpse.

His father picked up the skillet of hot oil from atop Adeline’s crushed foot. Blood had pooled into the skillet like a reservoir, mixing with the dinner. Marcas’ right hand was red from his fingertips to the bone of his wrists, but there was no sign of any grievance in that forever ice cold stare. 

“You started this Sebastian,” His gaze went to his son, who could feel his mother’s hollow sockets on him in horror, disbelief. 

“You will finish it.”

Wide blue eyes gazed up at him before falling closed and shutting tight. Fist clenched at his sides and he lowered his head before it was picked up again with a firm grip on his chin.

Marcas slowly tilted the iron handle.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly please leave comments and kudos so I don't leave this gem behind. Your words make all the difference. See any typos or have any suggestions? Say something for the love of god.
> 
> More to come ❤  
> Bother me itheperson.tumblr.com about request/suggestions


End file.
